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Updated: May 29, 2025
Nay, to speed the parting guest such was his lavish mood twice and thrice over would he have paid for the lights, the flowers, the music, the sandwiches, the coffee, the chicken salad, the cake, the lemonade-punch, and the ice-cream. Thus did the one thought divide itself between William and Mr. Parcher, keeping itself deep and pure under all their other thoughts.
"He'll come in the afternoons, I guess," said Jane. "But you aren't home then, Mr. Parcher, except late like you were that day of the Sunday-school class. It was on account of what you said that day. I told mamma." "Told your mamma what?" "What you said." Mr. Parcher's perplexity continued. "What about?" "About Willie. YOU know!" Jane smiled fraternally. "No, I don't."
This yearning, born of self-doubt, and intensified by a slight touch of gin, was beyond question the inspiration of his painful behavior when he came near the circle of chairs where sat Mr. and Mrs. Parcher, Miss Parcher, Miss Pratt, Miss Boke, Mr. Watson, Mr. Bullitt, others and William. "Nice tongue samwich, lady!" he announced, semi-cake-walking beneath his high-borne tray.
And as for the third of this little party, Miss Parcher's visitor, those peregrinating legs suggested nothing familiar to her. "Oh, see the fun-ee laundrymans!" she cried, addressing a cottony doglet's head that bobbed gently up and down over her supporting arm. "Sweetest Flopit must see, too! Flopit, look at the fun-ee laundrymans!" "'Sh!" murmured Miss Parcher, choking. "He might hear you."
"I was there," Jane replied, gently eating on and on. William could come and William could go, but Jane's alimentary canal went on forever. "You were where, Jane?" "At the Parchers'." "Oh, I see." "Yesterday afternoon," said Jane, "when Miss Parcher had the Sunday-school class for lemonade and cookies." "Did you hear Miss Parcher say " "No'm," said Jane. "I ate too many cookies, I guess, maybe.
He was constitutionally restless, but his movements never ended by placing a greater distance between himself and Miss Pratt, though they sometimes discommoded Miss Parcher, who sat at the other side of him a side of him which appeared to be without consciousness.
Yet every baby knows better! How long for Johnnie Watson, for Joe Bullitt, for Wallace Banks how long for William Sylvanus Baxter was the last week of Miss Pratt? No one can answer. How long was that week for Mr. Parcher? Again the mind is staggered. Many people, of course, considered it to be a week of average size. Among these was Jane.
"The what?" Mr. Parcher demanded, whirling to face her. "Do they think this party's going to keep running till day after to-morrow?" And then, as his eyes returned to the group on the platform, "That boy seems to have quite a touch of emotional insanity," he remarked, referring to William. "What IS the matter with him?" "Oh, nothing," his wife returned. "Only trying to arrange a dance with her.
"I see," he said, admiringly. "I see." "Well, they were under Willie's window-seat, all folded up; an' mamma said she wondered what she better do, an' she was worried because she didn't like to have Willie behave so's you an' Mrs. Parcher thought that way about him.
Then, in the afternoon, a series of quiet events not unconnected with William's passion caused her to think of Mr. Parcher more poignantly than ever; nor was her mind diverted to a different channel by another confidential conversation with her mother. Who can say, then, that it was not by design that she came face to face with Mr.
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